Step By Step

No, I'm not in Rehab. I am referring to a song by the reunited New Kids on the Block! (Or NKOTB as they would like to be called now, since they've grown up and finally embraced their love of acronyms).

As I think I've mentioned before, the NKOTB concert was a present for my sister's birthday this year. We got to the Borgata in Atlantic City on Saturday about an hour before the show started, and right before the doors were opened. The line to get in stretched around for what seemed like miles, and it was composed almost entirely of women ranging in age from late 20s to early 40s. There was a sprinkling of dudes - most of whom either looked tortured and were trying to hide behind their girlfriends, or had brought homemade "I Love Jordan" shirts from home (read: gay). A lot of chicks took the concert to heart as an opportunity to relive the golden era of 1986 - 1992, because...come on. Who wouldn't want to? There were side ponytails and leggings under jean skirts as far as the eye could see.

The opening act was some kid who looked like he drove his Dad's Hummer straight from the Jersey Shore to the show. The bad tan, the huge diamond earring, the dark hair rendered immobile by the unholy amount of gel in it, and of course the requisite button down shirt opened completely to reveal the wife beater underneath. Needless to say, I hated everything about him.

But when NKOTB took the stage, it was like the plot of a bad Disney movie (except without the involvement of Tim Allen or Judge Reinhold) - all of a sudden every girl in the room regressed to the age they were 20 years ago, the screaming began, and I proceeded to have one of the best times at a concert that I have ever had in my entire life.

The rest of the evening is a blur of alcohol and euphoria - though occasional events seem a little clearer. I do remember talking to a very disgusted casino employee who was selling t-shirts at the show and questioning why women would even like "a bunch of queers" like the New Kids, and lamenting the fact that no woman seemed to care that he had his own motorcycle. I cared very much that he looked like Argus Filch from the Harry Potter movies:

More soon.